She Is Not Here

She fights me. She punishes me. She knows this dependency has gone awry. She is not done with me yet. She has this curse that disembowels me. She is Mania when she is complacent and Depression when she drags me down to subterranean levels. She is the cliff I am pushed off of where I either fly or fall victim again to her devices. She claims victory when she is sated, when blessings have reached required amounts and her hunger quiets. She yells at me, “Ungrateful swine!” She is feral in her ferocious tone when waking up alive is not enough. She knows how my dreams are merely dreamt but never followed. She’s aware of the wishes that were made but never acted upon. She is the fear that allows me to succumb to my subpar mediocrity. She is the untapped potential like an oil rig that remains undiscovered. She claimed we were destined for greater things, not a life trapped in pretend acceptance. She professed that not everyone is meant for historical gain or perfection. She wouldn’t let me change the world. She merely allows me to survive the beast that slumbers inside. She slumbers still. She is the sanity I am not equipped for, an identity lacking any charm or reason. She brings me to shame, I carry this burden full of guilt and inferiority. She blocks me in, I have no say in this misery. She shields me from my own confidence. She makes me unworthy. She casts a shadow over me. She give me my faults but all I have is apathy. She shows no remorse. She is my fury and my sorrow. She gives me her pity. She is stuck in this body we both hate with a mindset from which we cannot escape. She is no cure for the weak and weary. She is no triumph for the sad and needy. She aims for my heart with no caution or mercy. She knows the joke is on her, I have none. She has no more fingers to point, no more excuses to make up. She is simply not enough. She cannot be the best version of herself. She is the shift that persuades the tides. She is the pendulum when her mood sways. She is the flip of a switch when we go from routine to utter chaos. She is me when we attempt to stand tall. She can’t see me for who we truly are, can she even see at all?